


lil red ridinghood

by RomanDiget



Series: Good Morning sourwolf [1]
Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teenwolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanDiget/pseuds/RomanDiget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No worries, If he touches you again. Allyson will kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lil red ridinghood

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first TeenWolf fan-fic and my very first fan-fic of any sort. I've been discovering little cannon errors since I originally posted. Thankfully people don't seem to breath fire over that stuff :D Anyway hope you like.

Lil-red Riding Hood  
Cali was supposed to be about sunshine and beaches but Christmas in Beacon Hill was bidding fair to be more like Alaska. The windows rattled under wind and half frozen rain. Stiles didn’t need to look to know their porch was decked with a tracery of ice no tinsel or glass decoration could mimic.  
His only source of light was the emergency candles. It was all quite romantic. Looking at the non-existent bars on his cell he restrained the urge to kick something hard. No way, Scott’s mother was going to let him come over in this weather.  
Mac and cheese sat congealing in its bowl. The fruit-cake was doing a fair job of soaking up the rum he had drizzled over it in case Scott turned down Dad’s good rye. Yep it was Christmas Eve and he was sitting alone in the old farm house again. Best of all, since the storm had taken out both power-lines and the cell-phone towers he couldn’t even watch porn.  
“Oh what a good boy am I” He muttered savagely.  
The whole house groaned under an extra strong blast, candle flames dancing. There wasn’t much point in keeping them all going now. Next to the cake was a biscuit tin with a couple buds of Scott’s favourite weed. Stiles dug into a pocket for his pipe. They would have shared anyway and he was going to need chemical help to sleep through this.  
He soothed his raw throat with a swallow of rye before packing the second bowl. Nearly dropping the candle he was using to light it, when the back door rattled extra hard. Hot wax spilled over his fingers and he did drop it.  
“Fuck me!”  
It snuffed on its own fortunately, but the door rattled again. This time there was no wind to blame. What the fuck. It wasn’t enough that Lydia was spending Christmas with that puke-stick and Scott was locked up with his mommy. Now the universe conspired to rob him of the simple joys of getting stoned.  
Marching determinedly to the door he practically screamed. “I don’t know who you are but this better be good!”  
The door almost tore itself out of his hands under the next blast of wind. Which pretty much escaped his notice, as 180 pounds of wet, shivering, green eyed attitude stumbled into his arms.  
Derek was genuinely reeling, Stiles staggered under his weight. Pipe, candle, and self-pity evaporated. He wasn’t nearly as helpless against physical force as he pretended. Letting Derek’s momentum pivot him around until the werewolf lost his footing and sagged into his arms. In a couple of moments he was sure there were no arrows or bullet holes that needed tending and he half dragged Derek to the couch.  
Wind pouring through the open door had snuffed every candle. Wrestling the door shut again won a grunt of disgust as he sagged against the frame. It was black as pitch outside. Stiles tried to remember where the closest candle was. He had a lighter in his pocket, assuming the flint wasn’t as soaked as his jeans now were.  
The faint green glow of Derek’s eyes showed up in the gloom tracking his movements. That was enough to remind him, where the werewolf went, trouble was close behind. “Dude! What are you doing here?”  
“You said I could come. You said I should trust you.”  
A sarcastic comment died on Stiles tongue. Derek hated him. They had been thrown together often enough trying to protect Scott but that did not mean the werewolf hated him less. Derek resented his friendship with the younger werewolf, disliked his cocky attitude and was generally annoyed that the local sheriff’s kid knew werewolves were not a myth.  
Stiles would have liked to blame Derek for turning his best friend into a werewolf. If he hadn’t been very enthusiastic about helping Scott break the curse. Still, he made an effort, one that got him tortured, shot, run-over, and electrocuted. That was worth something.  
“Ah… yeah I did. Just… no one is going to kick in my door on Christmas Eve right?”  
Almost he could hear Derek swallow. In the dark it was next to impossible to judge anyone’s expression, but he had always been very good at following Derek’s particular form of bi-polar disorder. Without any reasonable explanation he was almost certain the older boy was both nervous and embarrassed.  
“No hunters are following me.” Stiles felt his mouth twist impatiently. The statement was not all that reassuring. Derek had more enemies than werewolf hunters.  
Instead of calling him on it, Stiles snatched a candle off the shelf and fumbled around for his lighter. He had lived in this house his whole life. The layout of rooms and furniture was more familiar than the skin mags he shoplifted when he was twelve.  
When Derek got off the couch and crossed the room without barking a shin, it was creepy. Not wholly unexpected, but damn-it couldn’t this ass-hat at least pretend to have a mortal weakness.  
Almost on cue, Derek yelped and stumbled. The stone fireplace was directly in line with his head and Stiles jumped forward to catch him. The werewolf’s weight drove him back a pace, shoulder blades connecting painfully with the mantel, head rocking backward to crash into the stone chimney.  
Fucking typical, he tried to protect Derek and was going to crack his own skull instead, except he didn’t. Wolfy reflexes caught him. A massive hand cradled the back of his head gently. The other snaked around his waist, pulling him against the werewolf’s chest and belly.  
“Damn… he was right.”  
Stiles had no idea who was right or what that was supposed to mean but Derek was rock steady on his feet. The hands holding him captive were steady too. Derek was pressed against his full length. Almost furnace hot, the firm straining muscles, and most importantly the scent of Derek’s skin seeping into his brain, was about to reveal his most desperate secret.  
“Quit squirming Stiles.”  
“Uh… Derek, this is not what it seems like. I’m a little stoned and seriously bummed that Lydia dumped me for that prick Jackson.” Derek chuckled, and he pulled Stile’s hips tightly against his.  
Argh! Now Stiles was pissed, about to let loose and tell this asshole what he really thought of him. Until he realized hip bones don’t throb.  
Which meant it was not the Bone he had thought pressing against his belly. Quickly confirmed when Derek’s hand slipped under the red hoody and headed south. Those long fingers were down his jeans and pressing into his centre before he was sure what was happening.  
Okay that meant Derek knew, and wasn’t so old fashioned as to let a chance at free nookie slip away. That did not mean Stiles was going to act like Danny and give it up to the first guy that crooked a finger. Literally crooked a finger, gasping as Derek got inside and hit something exquisite.  
Derek cut off the wheeze of surprise with his mouth. If Derek’s smell made his brain spin, the taste of his mouth unplugged any muscle control left. Knees gave-up as he sagged in Derek’s arms, fingers went deeper still.  
Pretty lights exploded behind Stiles eyelids. Who was setting off fireworks during the worst winter storm in memory? And he was spinning. It was like that scene from the wizard of OZ only the rooms were spinning around him. Living room, stair-way, upstairs hall, his bedroom door sweeping past in the gloom, and his mattress rising up to meet them because Derek was in this crazy dream too.  
Derek was peeling off his T-shirt. How many times had he laid in bed remembering that day? Jeans hit the bedroom floor, he teased Derek about being tall, dark, and moody, but under his clothes he was milk pale. The line of fine black hair down his belly spread out in a lush tangle. Stiles had his hands in it, the soft strands tickled. That tight belly hovered over his face.  
He couldn’t see much in the dark but he was pretty sure where this was going. “Do you think Danny was dumb to give up his cherry?”  
“Stiles… Shut the fuck-up.” That voice was almost gentle, full of longing and something almost desperate. Well what did he think Derek was going to say? But his hands were full of something that was not soft. It was hard, hot and pulsing.  
Now Derek’s fingers were not playing havoc with his nervous system a few thoughts strung themselves together. Stiles had been planning to seduce Scott. Wasn’t this better?  
Derek paused above him in a push-up position. The werewolf’s scent had him panting. His nipples hard and rough against the hoody he was wearing, swag style jeans almost painfully tight around his excitement. Tonight he didn’t care if Derek hated him. His heart had turned over the first time he saw the black haired boy, and he was out of excuses.  
Damn… He had both hands wrapped around Derek and there was plenty left over. Straining his neck upward Stiles ran the tip over his lips. The older boy gasped and jerked away. He didn’t care. The werewolf wasn’t getting away that easy. Derek grumbled a protest as Stiles licked the knob.  
The taste… Pine and cinnamon sort of, but it flashed across his nerves like electricity. Derek reared back on his knees like a stallion. Stiles firm hold dragged him along to sitting in the middle of his bed. Then Derek’s hands were gripping either side of his skull as his hips drove forward.  
The plum sized knob hit the back of his throat and kept going. Panicked, he let go to push Derek away. That was useless. The shaft was so wide it paralyzed his jaw, tissue strained around the throbbing length. An audible ping like breaking ice was followed by five more and the needle like pain with each. He felt the cock sliding into his neck. Every muscle spasm as his body fought against invasion brought another gasp of pleasure from the werewolf. Green eyes glowed brighter and that light shifted toward amber. Stiles knew what that meant.  
Derek coughed loudly and thrust the boy away. He hit the mattress hard enough to bounce half a foot. The hands that suddenly were shredding his clothes weren’t human. Stiles could feel the long nails catch and scrape across his skin. Naked the cold air hit him everywhere Derek wasn’t.  
Powerful hands pushed his thighs apart, lifting hips into the air and toward Derek’s face. The rough scrape of teeth over his ass sent a shiver through him. He had wondered what it would taste like to really eat ass and desperately hope Derek had not wondered too or worse developed a liking for it. But that was crazy Derek had never killed a human; not to feed. A rough tongue pried him open and Stiles was embarrassed to hear himself squeal.  
Oh gods… Yes, that was a bona-fide squeal. Between his spread legs he saw Derek’s eyes look up, lock with his for a moment. The werewolf buried his face back in the boy’s butt. Rasping tongue and scraping teeth, they felt so good. He just couldn’t help himself, the noises kept coming. Every few minutes Derek would lock eyes with him. Every time they were a bit greener than the time before.  
Finally Derek grabbed his knees and flipped Stiles onto his stomach. There was an aching hollow place where Derek’s mouth had been. He knew what came next and didn’t care how much it hurt if only Derek would fill that place. He had never realized before how empty he was.  
Derek was on top of him, growling in his ear. A long deep hungry growl that should have made him fear for his life. The sizzling length was hot-dogging his ass, settling deeper, spreading him wider with every stroke. His knees were creeping forward making room for his lover to take him.  
“Say it Stiles. Tell me how much you want me.”  
“Fucking asshole! Fuck me now or I’ll breed Scott till it’s coming out his ears!”  
Derek sat back on his heels dragging Stiles hips with him. “As if! You would have been Scott’s bitch a long time ago if he had half a brain.”  
“What are mrfff” Derek had grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face in the pillow. Face down, ass up, Derek spread his knees wider lining up for the thrust. The plum coloured nob was on target. It felt silky smooth against his hole. Hard to believe it would pierce him. Frantically he tried to remember what he had heard and read about relaxing. The cock was drooling. He could feel that, warm, slippery, and a vague tingling sensation.  
The hand on his neck tightened its grip as the head nudged inside him. He was expecting pain; he was pretty much a virgin after all. The stretch was uncomfortable, long, slow steady as Derek filled him. Trying to breathe through the pillow was the worst part. Then the shaft rumbled over that spot, the place Derek’s fingers had been and all the pretty colours exploded again.  
Derek let go of his neck. The hand tweaked a nipple as it cruised by, circling Stiles chest before pulling him upright. The werewolf’s nipples were rigid against his bare back, the shaft slid a little deeper as his weight settled on Derek’s lap. Canine teeth were sharp where Derek kissed his neck, nipping pale skin, not quite painful but enough to distract from the throbbing centre of his belly.  
Oh gods, he’s inside me. He’s all the way inside me, and it feels… Fuck! It feels wonderful.  
And they were breathing together, the movement enough to keep the lights popping behind his eyes. The werewolf growled against his neck, not the kind of angry growl he associated with Derek but a deep contended hum, and hands on his body, ragged claws were gone. Human hands, blunt fingers tracing his skin, brushing a nipple sending gasping joy to his brain. Following the line of his navel down to his root, circling that, sliding underneath to cup his balls. Moving behind that to where Derek filled him, soft, blunt, fingers, on his edges, tickling, teasing.  
“You like it?” The breathy growl was hopeful and wistful.  
He did, he liked it a lot. More important Derek needed him to like it. As Christmas presents go, it was a winner.  
Words, words weren’t up to this, to describing or explaining Derek inside him. The question deserved answer and he gave it with a sigh and a wiggle settling further onto Derek’s cock. That was nice, finding new places inside that had been untouched. His lover gasped appreciation as Stiles took a more vigorous approach to acquainting all his untouched places with the glory that was Derek inside him.  
Every little movement was a newly discovered pleasure. He was feeling greedy, hungry for the joy Derek offered and his hips churned. It was satisfying to hear the werewolf groan. Stiles had not expected this. He knew it was supposed to feel good, had experimented but his own fingers were too short to reach all the places Derek was touching now.  
“Oh, gods fuck me. You have no idea how good this is.”  
Derek’s hand between his legs slid upward catching an unsuspecting nipple and giving it a good hard twist. It flashed to his brain making him cry out and then raced down his spine settling in his belly like a slow burning coal. Both hands were on his tits now, repeating the process and the heat in his core grew.  
Stiles whimpered. Derek’s hips were moving, finding places he had not been able to reach on his own. A savage bite on the back of his neck blanked out the world in a sheet of white heat. Shuddering he pitched forward. Derek controlled the fall and rode him all the way down.  
This time his face missed the pillow, it missed the mattress too. He hung off the edge of his bed staring at the pine wood floor. Derek had him, a firm grip on both shoulders arching his back. The werewolf began to pummel him in earnest as he felt himself dissolve into a puddle of boneless pleasure.  
“So fucking beautiful!” Derek hissed. “You got no idea how fucking beautiful you are.”  
And Derek’s hand moved to his root. A slow, long stroke starting at the tip and working its way down, spreading slickness with those hard hot fingers. A clench at the bottom and a swift rotating slide back to his tip. And again, and again, he was shuddering now. His body beyond his own understanding, doing things he didn’t recognize.  
“That’s it. Come-on Stiles we’re almost there.”  
The jolt came from his clutch around Derek. “Yes!” The werewolf cried.  
Stiles didn’t even recognize the muscles that were clenching so tight around the cock inside him. They fired off like waves pounding the beach.  
Derek’s grunt changed pitch. Both hands seized the younger boy’s hips and dragged him hard on the spike filling his guts. The sub-sonic rumble in Derek’s chest gained volume emerging as the deepest most primal wolf’s howl Stiles had never imagined possible.  
The cock inside throbbed and grew; he could feel his guts being displaced as Derek doubled in size. The blooming heat couldn’t all be his, but his own orgasm wiped away thought and question. He barely felt Derek drag him back on the bed and collapse on top of him.  
Lying together, wet and shuddering, random flashes firing along his nerves making him twitch and groan. He let his brain stay quiet, soaking up the be-ing of Derek inside him. Never mind what it meant. Just be that; just own that, just…  
“Quit thinking so loud. Can’t you just enjoy it?” Derek hissed.  
He considered answering, retaliating, but it would require organizing his nervous system and that was too much work.  
Instead he buried his face in the pillow and hitched his hips against Derek. Daring him to start again.  
The house still shivered in the wind, rain rattled on the windows violently. Stiles was pinned to the mattress, Derek draped over him like a quilt. 5 O’clock shadow rasping the tender skin of his neck while Derek’s breathing feathered his hair. He wasn’t one to be still, and relaxing was just the momentary break between pranks waiting for his victims to realize the full extent of his awesomeness.  
At this particular moment Stiles had nothing else he wanted to do, no where he wanted to go. Derek might be asleep (did werewolves sleep?) but Stiles had his undivided attention. The Knot was still tightly lodged inside him. He had tried hard not to smirk when Derek explained. The werewolf was worried it was going to weird him out. Stiles was just glad Derek couldn’t fuck and then run away. From what Danny said, that was the normal pattern when guys did it.  
“You’re purring.” Stiles arched against Derek’s chest. Considered denying it, decided not to. He twisted under the heavier boy just enough to kiss him. Derek growled into his mouth. A few hours ago that growl would have backed him up. Before he learned his lusting after the werewolf was a two way street.  
Derek slid a hand under Stiles face, turning him enough to plunder his mouth properly. Stiles quit breathing; Derek sucked all the oxygen out of his lungs. Just when he thought the vacuum was going to implode his chest, Derek exhaled into him. Everything he had given up came back to him and more. A slow rolling tide of Derek-ness flowed in.  
As the kiss continued, Derek’s knee was sliding up inside his thigh. One leg being lifted off the bed and over Derek’s head, effectively rolling Stiles onto his back. Not a bad position when the next beat of your heart depended on kissing the man between your legs. But his hands were tangled in Derek’s hair, legs wrapped around the werewolf’s waist. Yes, his life depended on it. Eventually the tide of identity rushing between them stilled and blended. Stiles wasn’t certain anymore where he ended and Derek began.  
That should mean something his brain insisted. Unimportant his body answered. It was a ridiculous conversation he decided and abandoned it in favour of snuggles.  
“Good boy.” At least that’s what he thought Derek muttered into his hair.  
The tiny little shower had always seemed like the most unlikely place for sex. Stiles conceded rocket-tube had that part wrong. A tight space, hot water and olive-oil shower-jell made a festive morning. Eventually the Sour-wolf stepped in.  
“Your dad is going to catch us.” Stiles knew he was pouting.  
Derek sighed into his damp scalp. “I will fight for you.” It was Stiles turn to sigh.  
“I know you would.” Disengaging and stepping on the bath mat, handing Derek a towel. “I know you’re trying to do the least possible amount of damage, but…”  
A horrified question rose in Derek’s eyes on the ‘but’ left hanging. He started out of the shower reaching for Stiles hand.  
“but was it really necessary to keep my cherry for a whole year?” He’d timed it and placed it just right. Derek swiped at him, overbalanced on the wet tile. Stiles giggled and danced out of reach. No point in trying escaping retribution, they would be separated soon enough.  
  
He heard the porch beams creak. The Grimoir and copy he was making went into a desk drawer, under an album with photos of his mom and a pile of random skin-mags. Scott tapped on the closed window. Stiles waved, nudging the prayer rug under his bed as he crossed to unlatch the window.  
“I know it’s cold, but you never locked it before.”  
Stiles shrugged. “Blissful ignorance, over, gone, kaput.”  
“Your room is clean.”  
He shrugged again. “It happens. Even I have a filth threshold.”  
Scott’s postured changed. His joints were loose and easy but he seemed suddenly taller and broader through the shoulders. “Stiles…”  
The weird echo banging around in his skull was all the evidence he needed. Scott was his best friend; Derek said Stiles was part of Scott’s pack. That did not mean he accepted Scott had any right to manipulate him with werewolf powers.  
“Don’t do that again.” He was snarling and Scott actually paled. That was unexpected.  
“Don’t use your Alpha tricks on me Scott. It’s not cool, seriously not cool.”  
He meant it, which was weird because he never cared before. They had been in each other’s hip pocket since second grade. It always balanced out, though Stiles felt like he was playing Robin a little too much lately.  
Scott reorganized his objections. “It reeks in here. What have you…?”  
Ah man… He used enough Lysol to give himself a headache.  
“Oh no, tell me you didn’t… Derek? Derek Hale, seriously?”  
Yeppers, busted. Scott staggered backwards into an old chair. He looked a bit lost and Stiles felt guilty, but that spurred something else. Something he had kept behind his teeth for too long.  
“Dude. You have Allyson. Not right now maybe, but you will everybody knows it.” Allyson had changed them, turned their friendship inside out. The werewolf thing was weird but it was the girlfriend that came between them. Scott had always put his mom first but Stiles was second, until the Argent girl showed up. Now Stiles wasn’t even third.  
Scott’s face was working. He was putting the pieces together, figuring it out. Probably adding a few bits Stiles didn’t even know existed with his wolf senses. Stiles sat on his bed and waited for the fallout.  
“Look, dude, I’m sorry if this upsets you. But fuck it was Christmas Eve, and you’re with Allyson, Lydia is with Jackson, Dad was working all night; and fuck it I just wanted to be with someone… And Derek was here, and he wanted me. Me, he wanted me. Don’t you fucking get it?”  
It was already out of his mouth; Stiles heard himself and clamped a hand over the betraying words too late. He couldn’t take it back. If he wanted to keep this secret Scott was going to die, right here, right now.  
Like that was going to happen and anyway he’d never manage to hide the body. Scott was shifting around on the chair uncomfortably. Okay, it was an awkward conversation to be having with anyone.  
“Okay, yeah I’m upset, but not for the reasons you think.” His best friend got up and started pacing. Yeah I get it, I know you were waiting for me and I didn’t show, or call, or send smoke signals, fuck! Yeah I get it.”  
Then Scott pivoted to face Stiles, his body language switched from distracted to laser focus. “Did he tell you what it would mean? Before you guys did… it, did Derek tell you what would happen?”  
Stiles felt like a yawning pit had just opened at his feet. Scott was arrogant, careless, and self-centred. Until someone was in trouble and then he was a bloody super hero. His friend had just flipped into hero mode and Stiles couldn’t convince himself that Scott was mistaken.  
“Uh… no. I mean, we talked afterwards, but nothing that should bother you this much, why?”  
“Where is Derek now?”  
He was about to answer ‘fuck if he had any idea, Derek didn’t answer to him.’ Except, he had a sudden image of Derek, sitting under a big tree and smiling contentedly. It was not just imagined, it was like looking out a window. Then Derek’s eyes met his and the smile grew. “Stiles… you found me.”  
And then he was slapping himself, arms flailing in distress. Scott was watching. Stiles could practically see the steam pouring from his ears. It was surprisingly grounding to watch the werewolf slowly lose control. About the time Scott’s eyes started to shift toward amber, Stiles got his voice back.  
“What The Fuck Scott! What just happened?” his voice was still ragged but at least it didn’t squeak.  
The question brought Scott back and the shaggy haired boy started to pace again. “He made you part of his pack.” The look on his friends face was pure murder, Scott was not only capable of the deed but of disposing the body as well. It was a scary thought but also satisfying.  
“No… no, he didn’t bite me. Beard-burn, yes; a couple of hickies even, but no broken skin. Derek promised. He wouldn’t turn me.” Now, his voice was turning shrill. If he was a fool? If Derek had tricked him? If last night was a lie?  
“No!” Scot had crossed the room, was kneeling in front of Stiles and holding both shoulders firmly. “No; he didn’t turn you.”  
“Then what was that?”  
Scott hesitated a moment before answering. “That was the pack bond. You don’t have to be a werewolf to be part of our pack.” Stiles felt his jaw drop. Scott chuckled, applied two fingers to Stiles chin and closed his mouth. Then he bent down and kissed him. It was not a chaste kiss either.  
They both heard 180 pounds to attitude land on the porch roof. Scott backed away chuckling but the glow was back in his eyes. Derek dived through the window, transforming as he rolled to his feet, claws out, fangs bared.  
Stiles was on his feet, and shouting.  
“Someone tell me what the fuck is going on!” Both boys froze. Looking from one to the other, he stepped between them. His prayer rug was still peeking out from under the bed.  
“New rule. Everyone uses the bloody door from now on.” They grinned at him, both of them. They didn’t think he meant it, and they didn’t think he could back it up. He was going to enjoy the look on their faces when they found out different.  
“This room is too small. The werewolf smell is giving me a headache. Both of you go downstairs.” It was enough to flip their transformation back toward human. They shuffled their feet but neither moved to exit. Gods! Two alphas in a room. One at a time they could be sensible, put them in a room together…  
Still, he knew how to manage this. “Scott there are cookies and a fresh jug of milk in the kitchen.” Taking his friend by the shoulder and steering him toward the stairs, over his shoulder. “Derek, I’m going to make a sandwich. Do you want anything?”  
It was all going very well, Scott was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Derek’s hand slid down the back of his jeans. Stiles swallowed the squeal, squirmed away from the Alpha and shot him a dire look as he retreated. Derek’s answering smile showed his teeth. Stiles flinched. Okay managing them was too strong a term.  
There were sandwiches, cookies, and milk. Derek didn’t turn his nose up at any of it. Eating gave Stiles brain fuel and it kept everybody’s mouth busy enough he could process what had been said before something else confused the issue.  
He felt better than normal. He had felt immensely better as soon as Scott arrived and exponentially improved when Derek showed up. He didn’t think it was just because he was happy.  
“So… stronger, faster, better, when we are in a pack. That’s supposed to be how it works, yes?”  
Shoe-laces apparently were the topic of discussion. He flopped back on the couch waiting for the alphas to man-up.  
“I didn’t want to freak you out with too much at once.” Derek was still staring at his shoes. That was never a good sign. Neither of these guys would deliberately hurt him, Stiles was sure of that. On the other hand this assumption they could make his choices for him; that had to go.  
“Ya know what? I want my Eef-ing Honeymoon.” Both of them looked at him like he was speaking Greek.  
“Scott, I love ya but get out. Come back when you have something useful to say, or in a week, whichever comes last.”  
Turning to Derek. “You are taking me out to dinner. Something French I think but not so classy I have to dress up.” It was almost worth it to see Derek’s jaw drop.  
“Go on scoot, both of you. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and listen to your hair grow.”  
“But…” Scott’s mouth was moving only nothing else came out.  
Stiles didn’t feel like waiting for Scott to organize an argument. “But what? I’m part of the pack now, and I’m not a werewolf, right?” They nodded agreement.  
“I’m your mate, right?” Looking at Derek.  
“You will be.” The alpha said determinedly. Stiles felt his face split in a dazzling grin. “Oh, so it’s not a done deal. Good to know.” He left out that Derek better make a good show if he wanted a Stiles shaped lump in his bed.  
He could still feel the buzz of Scott’s kiss almost an hour after the fact, maybe that was why the tension between the alphas ratcheted up again, compelling Stiles to add. “And if you kill each other… I am definitely not fucking the survivor.”  
Derek snorted, treating them to one of his trademark snarky smiles. “No worries there. If he touches you again, Allyson will kill him for me. That is one Bitch that suffers no rivals.”  
On that note Derek snagged his leather jacket and made an exit.


End file.
